Bifurcate
by Vergil's Inferno
Summary: To what length would you go to save the one you love? What sacrifice would you make to ensure their happiness? For Dante, those questions had no answers. For Nero, those questions had just begun. Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May cry and its characters or anything familiar mentioned in this story.


Dante was gone for two weeks. That was never a good sign. He never took longer than three days for a single mission, and this one was meant to be a lower class nest: if they ranged from Scarecrows to Frosts, it should be a walk in the park for the half-demon. He remembered a time when he took on more powerful beings for much less money and much less time, so this one in particular puzzled him to his core. Nero hated feeling like this: it wasn't helplessness, but more not being able to help if his partner was in trouble. And not knowing where he was. That irritated him to hell and back. Dante hadn't called. He usually calls every night when he was on a mission out of the city. And because he was gone for so long, Nero had to tackle all the menial jobs that were called in. A banshee, a shade, whatever it was, he would fight his heart out to the bitter end, which usually meant the creatures head sitting atop his sword, resulting from a swift cut from Red Queen, his trusted monster of a sword. If they kept their distance, he'd blow them to bits with Blue Rose, his custom double barrelled revolver that never left his side. Besides, they needed the money for the plans they had for the future.

He and Dante had been together for almost five years. Exclusively for six months, in secret for almost four years. It was one hell of a task keeping his love for that old man under wraps, when all the demon did was provoke him and send his urges over the edge with company around or right before they both went on a mission. Dante was relentless, but he was also damn adorable. Behind the shops doors, the menacing red-clad red-eyed 2 feet tall broad shouldered apex from hell that made demons shudder was the cutest and biggest teddy bear Nero knew. Okay, maybe not full teddy bear, maybe mountain teddy bear. He wasn't one for public displays of affection either, but his presence and stature alone made every moment with him memorable. Whether he was on the field murdering hordes of demons and picking them off like spinach between his teeth, or behind his bedroom door ripping Nero to shreds after a long day, the fact that they belonged to each other made every day more bearable. The mutual love they had bubbling from the day they met had grown into much more than drunken sex and purposely forgotten one-night-stands. At first, these feelings were difficult for the older demon to categorize and understand, but once Dante came to terms with the fact that the younger man made him weak in the knees, he pledged to always keep him safe out of harm's way, and fulfil every need to the best of his ability. Every. Need.

It had been a good road, though no good relationship is fit without their fair share of setbacks. As of recently, a month to be exact, Dante had been distant. The scary distant. The kind that came home and never had dinner, even if it was his favourite – pizza; the kind that no longer looked after himself or worried about his appearance in front of customers; the kind that didn't want to talk after he came home from a long, demon-blood filled day. Nero couldn't remember the last time he had a proper conversation with the love of his life. All his attempts at trying to talk to the older demon had been met with grunts or the basement door slamming in his face. Dante crawled to the bedroom on all fours most nights, empty bottles of bourbon lying on the bar table which Nero had to clean up, and having to look after a hung-over Dante as well. Nero tried his best to convince himself it was just a phase, but he could only be ignored for so long.

Something inside Nero clicked and he sprang to life, jumping of the couch and up to his and Dante's room for his uniform. In ten minutes, he taking the phone off the hook and flipping the sign on the big oak door showing they were closed. With his trusted sword on his back and his favourite gun on his thigh, he climbed on his motorbike. "Let's bring him back home, hey? Whatcha say, buddy?" He revved the bike and it roared in agreement. Nero wouldn't come back without Dante.

A door on the far side of the room opened: the mismatched dimensions of the door and its accompanying frame allowed for a cold chill to enter at the worst of times, and the bottom vibrated against the cold, wet concrete. If you went in or out, someone would know. The echo travelled as far as Dante could hear, and his hearing was fifteen times that of a human. He attempted freeing himself from the ridiculous yet simplistic trap set by his torturer: a leather dog leash coated in poison ivy for irritation and burning, and a matching pair of thick, rusty chains that restricted movement and blood flow. It was coated in salt and another red substance to form a salve that drained a little bit of his humanity every minute. There were no bars separating him from his captors; the bonds did a far better job.

"Oh my, don't you look dreadful, son of Sparda. If only Vergil could see you now..."

This voice was new. It wasn't the usual grouchy, cigar-in-the-throat toad that came to visit him for meal times. This one sounded like it was destined to reside in the deepest pits of hell next to Mundus himself; two toned – one pitch high enough to annoy some of hell's fiercest hounds, and the other too much its polar opposite. It made Dante's ears bleed. As a brain-splitting headache started at the base of his skull, the daunting form came into view. From what Dante could see, there were two forms that fused into one in the most disgusting manner possible. Or maybe his eyes weren't functioning at that stage; he had drifted out of conscious so many times that he no longer trusted his eyesight to garner a true depiction of what stood in front of him at any point. He placed his head on the cool ground, hoping to calm his resolve and his migraine and look up again. Yep. It was that ugly.

"You have no right to say his name."

The monster stepped closer, and the grotesque details came into view. It was a heavily decayed human body: it was missing half of its left arm, but its right was attached a foreign gooey green slime. Dante traced the slime to a fat caterpillar that drove itself through the muscle tissue of the host's back and rested on his left shoulder blade. The host's face was nothing more than a brown thatch bag, bolted to what was left of its face. A bloody smile stood where his mouth would have been; no kneecaps and a bright blue orb sank into the middle of its chest.

"And why not? It is because of him that we live."

The orb in its chest glowed bright at the mention of their creator.

Dante dropped his head to stare at the floor. His headache sucked all the remaining strength he had left, but the sting in his chest at the mention of Vergil's memory was far too much for him to handle. "Then what the fuck do you want with me?"

"Ohhhh, feisty aren't we? You are in no position to be asking questions, son of Sparda. But if that be the case, I suggest you ask the right ones."

He tried steadying his breathing. "If you think you can crack me that easily-"

"Oh I don't. But my boss thinks you'll talk. I'm here to either confirm or deny that theory."

Dante chuckled, still facing the concrete, his eyes changing that familiar crimson red. "I'm not telling you a single fucking thing."

It baffled Nero that he couldn't sense Dante anywhere. He had driven four hours out of the city, and still nothing. It was good, because that means Dante was not in bodily harm. It was bad, because he would never be able to figure out where he was. Nero pulled off to the side of a deserted road and tried to speak to him.

"Tell me where you are. I need to find you."

The wind was unforgiving at this time of day, and there was no way Nero could travel any further east. He needed to find a place to stay and a warm, home-cooked meal in his belly. Oh, and coffee. Piping hot, strong coffee. A few miles down he found a quaint motel off the side of the road. The VACANCY light cut through the gloom of the deserted highway, making this the best thing to happen to Nero in twenty four hours. He managed to book a room at a quarter of its usual asking price, and strolled to the nearly empty diner next door. From what he could smell, that home-cooked meal seemed closer in his sights than he anticipated, and the thought alone made his mouth water.

In the thirty minutes he had been in the diner, he had scoffed down a family sized chicken pie, two banana splits, and five cups of coffee. It was a well-deserved break from the pizza and countless strawberry sundaes they shared daily. He busied himself with his sixth and possibly his last cup of coffee when his waitress came over with a cordless receiver. "Please hold for me sir. I think I have the person you need." The waitress tried her best to present the situation in once sentence, but decided to give up.

"I'm sorry to disturb you sir, but is your name Nero?" He could hear screams on the other side of the phone, and the colour drained from his face.

"Who's asking?" He cleared his throat to not sound scared out of his mind.

"There is a gentleman on the phone needing your help. He didn't give a name or anything, but demanded to speak to you. He says it's urgent." She handed him the phone with a solemn smile.

He smiled in thanks and she left his side. Nero stared at it before answering. "Hello?"

"You a demon hunter?" He was curt. Nero liked that.

"Yes. One of them, at least."

"Okay, I'm gonna describe this best I can. There's an old, dilapidated building next to the farm I work at, about fifteen miles west from where you are now. For the two weeks or so, someone has been tied up there, screaming their lungs out for help. Now I'm not saying I'm an expert, but it's a definitely a demon that's hurting some poor soul up there. Mind checking it out for me?"

Nero dropped the receiver when he heard 'two weeks', grabbed some money and handed it to the waitress, and raced out the diner as fast as his beating heart would allow. He darted into the darkness while the waitress watched the dirt skid from under the bike. She picked up the phone and told the man on the other end, who was still talking, that he just left to investigate.

"I love you Dante," he pleaded through the wind, hoping the next stop was his last.

Dante woke up hearing Nero's voice.

"..ove yo..ante.."

He clawed onto the words as if they manifested in front of his eyes. He was tired, he was hungry, and he hurt all over; aches and pains that had been numbed by his demon side were penetrating through his skin – the red salt drew his humanity away, yet left him feeling like a human. He hated being in pain. There were only two pains that he'd ever endure: a hangover and his lover. Nero. His name felt foreign on his lips, yet it's the one thing that had been screamed to him for days on end.

It took Dante a really long time for him to come to terms with the abnormal things he felt for Nero. For eons he had gotten used to being alone, never letting emotion, logic, or rationality rule his judgement. He acted on pure instinct alone, owing to his immortality: his worries did not concern those of normal demons because of the blood that ran through his veins. His father, Sparda, was once a feared monster that traversed the demon realms. No one came close to his level of power, and no one dared to challenge the personification of hell itself. When it came to light that the pure-bred demon chose a human with which to mate, the outraged armies of hell collectively banished the towering monstrosity, which he accepted happily. He spent the rest of his days fighting the hordes that came to earth, protecting his family, and training his twin sons – Dante and Vergil – for when hell came after them.

Unfortunately for him, only one son chose his path. Vergil sought to control the dark soldiers with the unlimited power that his father had provided for them: the sword entrusted to him – Yamato – was the sole key created to open the gates of hell. Rebellion – Dante's sword – was fashioned as its polar opposite, making Dante the only being with the ability of stopping Vergil if he were ever to abuse the power granted to him. Dante's optimism was short-lived when he was forced to use his companion much sooner than later and forced his brother into the depths of hell, an action whereby Vergil was expected to fight for his life. That decision weighed heavily on Dante's shoulders, but there was a relief in knowing he would never have to fight lower class demons under the rule of his brother.

He missed Vergil. He felt completely helpless watching his brother fall into the lower levels of hell. The only comforting thought was that he knew it was what Vergil wanted. But why? He hoped to live his days long enough to either consider the answer, or short enough to confront his brother himself. Dante had no clue whether or not Vergil was still alive…

He wiped the memory from his brain and got into a more comfortable position, resting his head and back on the smooth wall and stretched his legs. He lost the ability to stand in the first week being chained, so this was the next best thing. His eyes fluttered open when he heard hollow footsteps approaching him. It was a small form hunched over a plate of inedible sludge and a takeout drink container. There was no way in hell he would ever get used to the brown gunk they offered him three times a day, but it provided him with just enough energy to stare profanities into the back of his captor's heads.

"Same thing again?"

The toad looked at him with a sad expression. "Yeah. I don't know how to make anything else. The drugs give it its taste, and I don't add that to your portion anymore." Dagon carefully positioned the copper plate in front of him with his drink; a concoction of his own mixed with some juices from a vital star, and sat cross-legged in front of the older demon. He grabbed the spoon from his pocket and wiped it clean, the remanence of red salt falling to the ground. "You hungry? Or should I come back later?"

The odour of the meal burned Dante's eyes and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "No. Please. Stay. I was about to go insane." Dante rested his hands in his lap and opened his mouth as Dagon fed him his first spoon for the day. They had reduced his number of meals since he had told his previous tormentor to go fuck itself, so Dagon had snuck in an extra few spoonfuls into his remaining mealtimes.

"Your cooking seems to be getting better, Dagon." It took Dante a few seconds to swallow, but he was grateful he was able to eat regardless. He took a few deep breaths before opening his mouth for more.

Dagon blushed. "I have been practicing, son of Sparda-"

"Dante. Please, just call me Dante."

Dagon's head sank. "We were told not to use your name-"

"By who?" He didn't notice he was screaming, and Dagon flinched. "I'm sorry. I'm just so sick of hearing those words." He accepted another spoonful, and swallowed before he spoke again. "Dante is so much easier to say."

Dagon played with the sludge before him. "Then give me permission."

He looked up at Dagon with a surprised look on his face. "What do you mean permission?"

"We need your permission, or we'll be punished." Dagon held another spoonful to Dante's mouth, but confusion prevented him from eating. Dagon sank back down to his usual posture and played with the food once again. "We need your permission, or we'll be punished."

"Fine. You have my permission to call me Dante." A twinkle flashed in Dagon's eye, and the spoon in his hand shook with excitement. "But call me son of Sparda again. I dare you."

"As you wish… Dante." His hand steadied as he fed the half-demon.

A knock vibrated the chamber as Dagon dragged the final spoon across Dante's lips.

"Why is it taking so long?" The blood-curdling voice was back. Shit.

"We are almost done, Boukarev. I am cleaning his plate." Dagon rolled his eyes at Dante, and the half demon let out a low, throaty chuckle.

"I am coming in now. Your time is up." Dagon hurriedly stood up when he heard the big oak door slide across the floor. The voice was bored, and dismissed Dagon with little enthusiasm. "You need to learn your place, frog. There is a job to be done."

Dagon tore his gaze from Dante and followed his orders. He walked slowly, hating to leave the innocent demon alone in the clutches of his boss' more powerful minions. He stopped at the threshold and spoke. "Don't forget your orders, Boukarev-"

"I don't intend to kill him. If he doesn't cooperate, however, I will use every means necessary to cause him the worst pain possible in his state. You don't need to lecture me on etiquette. I have my job, and you have yours. I strongly suggest you get used to feeding him in worst states than this one."

Dagon leisurely closed the door behind him. The human-caterpillar hybrid flicked his wrist in their air and the door locked from the inside. "Should we get down to business?"

"It depends…" Dante moved to a kneeling position. "Have you practiced your negotiation skills? Or do you think your stupid mind control tricks are going to work? It has a terrible success rate." Dante knew which buttons to press. Nothing was worse than admonishing a lesser demon's power level, especially one who had every advantage over you.

"Get it out of your system, son of Sparda. It could perchance be the last time you choose to provoke me." Boukarev clicked his fingers and a sharp pain shot across his chest. It was unlike anything Dante had ever felt, and his throat unwittingly emitted a shallow groan. The pain vanished, but it left him breathless. The intake of oxygen scorched the invisible wound.

"And where the fuck did you learn that?" His lungs returned to normal, but Boukarev could hear the fear in his voice.

"You do not ask the right questions, son of Sparda." The caterpillar sunk out of its resting place: the right arm of the decaying body served as the thing's tail, and after its separation from its host, the body collapsed, its main power source slithering toward Dante. A foot of cold concrete separated them. "I hope you know that the closer I am to you, the worse the pain gets. So give me what I want and this won't hurt."

He let the thought sink in before he questioned his prisoner. Dante had blood dripping from the corners of his eyes and mouth. "As if you can make pain scare me." Dante smiled at Boukarev, and he scowled in return.

"Now: the boy. Where is he?"

"I don't know what you're talking about-"

"The boy: where is he?"

"I have no idea-"

"WHERE. IS. THE. BOY-"

"I. DON'T. FUCKING. KNOW." Dante's face snapped up: his fangs punctured deep holes in his bottom lip and his eyes shone a dark crimson. Black veins traversed through his neck, working its way up to his demonic features.

Boukarev clicked his fingers again and Dante's transformation came to a halt. The anger that usually overcame his body froze in place, causing irrefutable pain to wrack his entire body. His body fell with a solid thump to the floor: his eyes fixed to a sickening, empty frown, and his arms and legs bending at an irregular angle. The slow beating of his heart and shallow breaths was the only signs that he was still alive. "The boy: where is he?"

Dante did his best to face the demon. "Go. Fuck. Yourself."

The demon clicked his fingers with indifference. The scream tore through Dante's throat.

Nero gave up trying to look for the farm next to the abandoned three story warehouse. He wanted to talk to the man who had called, but found no sign of life within a two mile radius of the broken down building. He started to doubt whether or not he was in the right place when he heard a scream. Not just any scream, but a powerful one. One he had known for the past five years. The one he had spent a good half a day looking for. His instincts told him not to move closer to the house: he even contemplated on it not being Dante's voice when his trigger erupted without warning.

"What the hell-"

"He needs you, Nero. Stop standing around and go fucking save him."

If there was one thing about Nero, he didn't need to be told twice.

"I know you can hear me…"

Sleep typically entailed the recipient a few hours of peaceful tranquillity, undisturbed rest, and a full body reboot. It enabled a fresh start, as the sight of the sun signalled a new day. What Dante was experiencing wasn't sleep. He was paralysed from head to toe, his aching muscles throbbing profusely, and he had lost more blood than he had in his body.

"You need to wake up. There isn't much time."

He knew that voice, yet he couldn't sense any presences close by, which told him it was his mind playing tricks on him. No one was with him in this hell; he was all alone. His gave leave to the weight of his head and it hit the floor, and passed out before the nausea hit his stomach.

"Hey! Hello?"

He had lost consciousness. He shouldn't be talking to himsel-

"DANTE?"

Dante found himself in a dream state facing his brother. Vergil's arms rested on his shoulders and shook Dante violently, and he felt his brain reverberate off the walls of his skull. When all was still, Dante couldn't believe what he was seeing. He strained his arms against the burden of his injuries and Vergil shook his head. "You're too weak. Don't worry, I understand." Dante forced his arms to move, to hold his older brother in the embrace he desperately needed, but nothing gave way. "Please brother, you have to listen." Dante couldn't speak, so he attempted half a nod. The action made Vergil smile.

"As much as I'd love to stay, you need to know this before you wake up. Whatever you do, don't give them the sword. I know you know who has it, and I'm begging you to keep it from them. They want to raise an army to fight against the human race and win earth over as another level of hell. They are conditioning you to hate the power Yamato holds in the hopes of you fusing it with Rebellion, creating a portal to hell that will never close, therefore allowing lower and higher class demons to come and go as they wish. You cannot let that happen, Dante. The balance will crumble."

He blinked at the sudden realisation of what needed to be done.

"You need to get out of here fast. They have reduced you to a fragile state of illusion, Dante. Don't let them win. I don't want to live again. I don't want to kill again. Don't make me a reality, Dante. For god's sake, once was enough. Do this for us. Do this for Nero." He threw a questioning look at this blue-clad brother. "Of course I know about him. I've been stuck here for a while, but that doesn't mean I can't have fun, so I roam your head once in a while. It's really boring, if you must know, very empty-" Dante's face went deadpan at the insult "-but he's always there. It's good to see you making decisions for others and not yourself for once." They both smiled at each other, and Vergil squeezed his brother's shoulders. "Look, I'm not trying to rattle you. If you don't want to save yourself, save him. Or save yourself for him. He needs you just as badly-"

A brash movement stirred Dante from his sleep. His eyes opened slightly and a faint blue glow struggled to push through the door of his prison. He inhaled sharply was the situation unfolded and his body shot to an upright position, one he hasn't been used to in seven days. The chains moaned under his motions but gave way, and his once frozen blood circulated through his form. His ecstasy was short lived when he saw his partner walk through the door. What was meant to be relief on Nero's part was overtaken by confusion, horror, and anger: they had reduced the love of his life to a mess of red and black, his soulless eyes overshot with grief and sadness, and his once lively figure had been covered in cuts and bruises. Nero ran to his side when a stream of blood ran down the front of his face: Dante's eyes rolled into his skull and fell to his knees, and Nero followed suit, holding the back of Dante's head carefully. He felt a sticky substance in his partner's hair and watched as his blue glow turned purple. Dante was losing blood remarkably fast.

"You need… to leave."

"Not without you-"

"No. You don't understand. You need to leave." Dante moved to a position that could support his way. "They are trying to get to you… through me. You can't be here… "

"Well, now they have me. Like I said, I'm not leaving here without you-"

"WOULD YOU JUST LISTEN FOR ONE FUCKING SECOND?" Nero was scared. Dante had never raised his voice when talking to him. Even when his life was in grave danger, he merely adopted a deeper tone with the younger male. His blood went cold; his body took a few steps back and iced over, waiting for Dante to speak. "They… they drew you here because of… your sword… The one… embedded in your arm... They are starting… they are starting their own revolution to… take over the human race… They need it… for the hell gate…" Dante took a few deep breaths. His lungs worked harder in the past few seconds than they had in two weeks. "They want you… to lead it… They want you to kill me…"

"I am most certainly not going to do that-"

"Vergil… would be in control…not you… He would take over… and you… would be destroyed as well… Please, JUST GO!"

Dante closed the doors to the shop, locked it in place and stared at Nero. "Why did you come after me?" His towering frame was back to normal, and the ice that laced his approach did not sit well with the younger man. "Do you not trust me-"

"What don't I trust, Dante?" Nero was rubbing his eyes, clearly fatigued from the day's events.

"Do you not trust me to do what's best for you?" Dante looked hurt when he asked the question. His defensive position grew anxious, scared that Nero would not take it as a rhetorical question. "Do you not trust me to look out for you anymore?"

"What do you mean?" Nero sat down and braced himself for what was to come.

The bigger man let out a weighty sigh and his tense shoulders dropped. "I'm tired. Can we talk about this tomorrow?" He used his back to push off the wall and started walking to the bedroom.

Nero held up a firm hand to stop him in his tracks and walked toward him, putting his hand on Dante's chest, and hitting him in tune with his words. "Not-a-chance-in-fucking-hell. I have been battling-with your damn mood swings-for a goddamn month,-and my patience has drawn the line. Talk. Now." Dante misunderstood his actions as a joke and chuckled in his throat. A pissed off Nero raised his other hand to his chest and shoved Dante into the wall. "Do you think this is a fucking joke?"

Dante shuddered at the force behind the shove. He hit the wall with a loud thump and felt the concrete give way. He raised his head and a blue glow reverberated on his partner's body, Yamato at the ready. "No. But I'm not taking you seriously either." He peeled himself out of the dent in the wall only to be driven back by the sharp tip of a sword. "Whoa whoa whoa, take it easy-"

"Start talking. Or I swear to god you will be walking out of hell without a fucking head-"

"Put the sword down, and I'll talk." Nero stood still. "Put it down." He grew impatient, but he needed Dante to know just how annoyed he really was. "Put it down Nero. Calm down. Please." The plea in Dante's eyes compelled the glow to dissipate.

"I would have taken you with me, but I didn't know what I was up against. All I had was a vague description given to me by Dagon, and he didn't know either. We had to draw it out: we don't know where it came from, but we needed to get rid of it. Fast. We underestimated that guy-"

"Oh, so it's a strength thing-"

"Don't interrup-" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "-Are you fucking kidding me right now? Did you see what those chains did to me? Can you even imagine what they would have done to you? I was protecting you, for god's sake."

"I don't need protection-"

"Haha. Oh yes you fucking do."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Aggression and irritation was edging in the younger man's voice.

Dante pursed his lips as if Nero should've known what he was talking about. "You let your anger rule you. You are stubborn. You consider things petty. You are impulsive. You can't keep your head cool for shit. You do things without thinking them through. You are reckless. And that arm of yours gets you in more trouble than you know." Nero's attempt at a witty comment subsided when he noticed Dante at his side. He got in close; his left hand busied itself in his hair and whispered his words against Nero's lips. "In case you seem to have forgotten: I promised you on my life that I would do everything in my power to keep you from harm. I swore to you that your life was above mine, and I would do anything I needed to keep you safe." Dante's warm breath sent shorts of electricity up his spine. He sunk into the older man's chest and gripped the taught red leather at his back. Dante, in return, rested his forehead on his partner's. "You are my life, Nero. You die, I die. But if I die, you live on. The math is that simple."

"No, it's not that simple-"

"Spare me, okay?" His hands snaked to Nero's powerful jaw. "I would have endured what you saw a thousand times over if that meant keeping you breathing, because it is that very fact that keeps me strong and gives me the will to live. Don't ever think that sitting idly by is a bad thing: knowing that you are doing nothing is sometimes better than the slight thought of you doing something for me. Ever thought of that?"

"No-"

Dante kissed him on his forehead. "Of course you haven't. You don't think." Nero's brain ceased function at the tenderness of Dante's actions. How long had he been waiting to be held like this? How bad was it that this was all he needed?

"I would hate to have another person I care about dying by a decision I made to keep that very person safe. Don't you get it? I have tried and tried and tried to do the best I could, to make the best out of hard decisions, and they always bite me in the ass. I have tried to grow up. I have tried to be the bigger person. I no longer trust your life in my hands." Dante sniffed and Nero opened his eyes – a lump formed in his throat as he watched a lonely tear fall down his cheek. He reached to wipe it away, but Dante's hand caught it and entwined their fingers. His voice was inaudible over the numbing silence around them. "If anything were to happen to you because of me-"

"Nothing will happen, Dante-"

Dante peeled out of Nero's helpless grasp. "You need to go. You can't be with me anymore." Dante moved to the entrance of the shop and gripped the handle leading his escape. His knuckles turned white from the pressure, almost as if a mightier strength on the other side didn't want him leaving. "You are more than I deserve."

Dante gave no time for Nero to feel confused. "I have to go."

"You can't do this. Don't leave me, Dante-"

"I love you, Nero. Never forget that…" With that, he slammed the door shut, leaving Nero alone on the other side. The warmth of the shop diminished almost immediately, and Nero tried to find enough energy to chase after him. He only got as far as the threshold, his powerful form bundling into a crumpled mess. Nero's eyes burned, and the stress behind them forced them shut as the tears began to fall. "Dante?" He waited for a reply he knew would never come.

He screamed louder, a pained lament loud enough to stop his heart. "DANTE?"


End file.
